


The Man with the Metal Arm

by metal_arm_blues



Series: The Man with the Metal Arm [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 01:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20667056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metal_arm_blues/pseuds/metal_arm_blues
Summary: The second installment.





	The Man with the Metal Arm

**Author's Note:**

> Bucky's POV

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes...”

The man in the spangled outfits’ voice kept echoing this in my brain as I tried to sleep. This was the most restful sleep I have gotten since the fall of Hydra. And yet, the dreams still made me toss and turn.

“Because I’m with ya til the end of the line...”

My eyes shot open as I lay upon the sweat soaked mattress, breathing heavily as the man vanished from my sight and darkness took his place. I’ve heard this said before, but where I have heard them was an entirely different story. One that I could not remember for the life of me. I sat up on the bed and rubbed my face with my right hand, sighing as I did so. These dreams were continuous, picking up where they left off and always leaving me with more questions than answers. It were as if these dreams were trying to help me rediscover who I really was, who I really am. Another way I could try and figure this out, was by finding out more about this, Steve Rogers. Captain America, as the world knew him. The question I had was, how did he know me?

I needed to know more about him so that I could eventually know how he knew me. The only way to know more about Steve Rogers was to visit the museum that was dedicated to him and his life of heroism. I stood up from my makeshift bed and got dressed, baggy clothes that had seen better days, making sure my jacket covered my metal arm and then adding some gloves, finally topping the look off with a faded baseball cap. I left the room that I called home, and headed to the Smithsonian. I managed to sneak my way in, dodging security and their metal detector that I would have surely set off. This was actually not the first time that I had visited this museum, I had been coming here often since my encounter with the Captain. Each previous visit was dedicated to one part of the Captain America museum, until suddenly I ended up having dreams about him, dreams that seemed more like memories. I hoped that continuously visiting this museum would bring about flashbacks that would explain the dreams further. The first few visits brought about nothing, yet the last time that I was here I ended up having a rather confusing flash back. I was on this cliff in the mountains, over looking train tracks, with me were members of these ‘Howling Commandos’ and Steve Rogers as well. Steve and I were talking as we looked down at the tracks, there was a mention of the Cyclone at Coney Island, and it appeared that we were going to be zip lining down to the tracks from where we stood on the cliff side. This was a strange memory, but a memory nonetheless.

After spending some time in front of the Howling Commandos exhibit, I ventured to the one dedicated to Bucky Barnes. As I stopped in front of this man’s picture, it were as if I was staring into a mirror. This was who Rogers kept saying I was, James Buchannan Barnes. Bucky. Yet as I stood there, taking in everything I could about this Sargent Barnes, not a single flashback came to me. Not once. They happened elsewhere within this museum, but not here. Was it do to my denial that Rogers was right? That this man I was reading about and staring at pictures of, was me?

My body tensed when someone suddenly ran into me, bringing me back to reality. I looked down at the young woman before me, simply gazing down at her as she apologized. I gave a small grunt and just walked away, feeling like I needed to venture elsewhere to get the memories flowing. However, as I walked, I glanced back over my shoulder and watched as the woman went to work at the food stand. I had seen her before, during my last few visits. Though when she ran into me a moment ago, it was the first time I had seen her up close. She was…extremely beautiful, so much so that my voice had gotten caught in my throat as she apologized for running into me, hence my grunting in response and decision to move on.

Instead, I moved to the wall that showed Steve Rogers both before and after he was given the super soldier serum. As I looked at this small and feeble version of Rogers, my mind suddenly flashed back to a time where we were walking together. From the way the conversation was going, it appeared that he had just gotten back from a funeral. I offered him a place to stay, yet he was proving to be quite prideful, admitting that he could get by on his own. That was when I placed my hand upon his shoulder and told him that he didn’t have to. Then came those words that haunted my dreams.

“I’m with ya til the end of the line, pal...

Pal.That word was not present in my dreams, yet the thought of its meaning caused the corner of my mouth to twitch upward ever so slightly. It was becoming much more clear now, that I was not always the monster that I have always been seen as.

No sooner had I finished perusing the Pre-Serum Steve part of the museum, that a voice indicated the museum would be closing soon. I let out a sigh through my nose, wondering if breaking in later tonight would be worth it. I didn’t have the patience to wait until tomorrow, I wanted answers now. Suddenly the woman from before stood in front of me, her hands outstretched with what appeared to be three hot dogs wrapped in insulated foil. She told me they were a peace offering for running into me earlier, which I honestly had forgotten all about. I looked down at them and then back at her curiously and then she mentioned something about giving them to someone else if I was not interested. I reached out and took them, feeling that it was the nicer thing to do than to just ignore her.

They were hot and the smell that came from them brought my mind surging to a place called Rockaway Beach. In the memory, I scarfed down four hot dogs as I stood with the frailer version of Rogers as we waited in line for one of the rides, proceeding to wink at a rather attractive woman passing me by. My vision then returned to normal and I gazed down at the hot dogs in my hand and then lifted my eyes to the woman and managed to say:

“Thank you.”

With that, she smiled and then left me there. As I left the museum as well, I saw which direction the woman took, but then I promptly went the opposite. I stuffed two hot dogs into the pocket of my jacket and then unwrapped the third and took a bite out of it. It was probably one of the best hot dogs I have ever had, or at least that I remember ever having. And pretty soon I was devouring the other two. After that small meal, I stood by a newspaper stand and scanned the latest headlines for any news that might catch my attention. My eyes skimmed over quite a few things until they moved back to a headline that bothered me. It was about a mugger that had been in the act for several weeks, and had yet to be caught. It was feared that he might also be targeting lone young women. My eyes widened slightly as I thought of the woman from the museum and the fact that she was walking alone and I quickly turned and walked at a steady pace in the direction she had gone. Hopefully she had not made any turns yet.

As the clocked ticked, I quickened my pace, eyes scanning both sides of the street, but she was nowhere to be found. That was when I heard a growl of pain, it sounded like it came from a man. It was coming from an alleyway in the distance, and I headed that way. Thankfully it was dark out now, so I was able to come upon the scene undetected. The woman from before was pinned against the wall by her throat, the mugger was slowly crushing her airways as his other hand began to molest her. This caused my jaw to set in anger and before he could get too far, I reached out with my left arm and grabbed him by the back of the collar. And then hurled him down the dark alleyway, watching as he slammed into the wall and slide down it to the ground. He groaned, but stayed down, most likely unsure what exactly just happened. I then turned my attention to the woman and I look down at my feet to find her sputtering for air and then passing out. I knelt down to check her pulse, just to be safe, and found it to be at a relatively normal pace, though perhaps beating a bit quicker due to the adrenaline rush. I then took her purse and looked through it until I found her driver’s license.

I discovered her name was Y/N and found her street address, hopefully it was correct. Then I took my jacket off, wrapped it around her like a blanket and then carefully picked her up, along with her belongings and then headed in that direction. I came to her apartment building, where I managed to walk in with her in my arms, without arousing suspicion (which proves people are two naive for their own good), and then headed to her floor. I dug around for her keys that were in her purse and then tried nearly everyone on the ring until I found the right one. Then I turned the knob and pushed the door open with my shoulder and looked around for where to put her down. At first I was afraid I was in the wrong apartment, for there were children’s toys scattered about the hallway, but then I found a picture hanging up of her with a newborn baby and assumed that she was in fact, a mother. I did my best to not trip on any of the toys, and managed to find what appeared to be her bedroom. I moved to her bed and gently laid her down upon it, my jacket still wrapped around her, and I did not dare remove it for fear of waking her up.

I then began to head to the door, but then I felt a pang of guilt start to build up inside of me. What if she awoke in a state of panic from the attack? What if she didn’t wake up at all? I decided that I ought to stick around, at least until she was awake, then I could quietly slip out without her noticing. I walked out of her room, shutting the door and then I am ashamed to say that I snooped around a bit. Something told me to make sure there was not a child waiting somewhere for her return. The house was clear of anyone at the moment, and during my look about, I found a spare room with a crib in it, along with other things that indicated it was a nursery and she indeed had a small child, perhaps infant. I then moved to the living room where I simply glanced around before heading over to the table and chairs within the kitchen, and I sat down.

And there I sat, all night.

I checked on her a few times during the night, making sure she was still alive and not in a coma or anything. Then I would head back to the chair in the kitchen and wait. The assassin in me was used to this, waiting. This wasn’t the first time I waited in someone’s kitchen in the dark, only this time I was not waiting for someone to get home so I could shoot them. My eyes scanned around the rooms, the kitchen, living room and dining room all in this one big area, and then my eyes stopped on a bookshelf for a brief moment. She had quite the collection of books on Steve Rogers, and as my eyes continued to move down the row, they found a few on myself. My eyebrows rose a little bit, not thinking that there would have been books written about me. Let alone, one written by Steve himself. Curiosity got the better of me, and I got up and walked to the bookshelf and took that one off the shelf and then moved back over to the table and sat back down. I spent the rest of the night reading about everything Rogers had to say about me. A little rediscovery of myself, if you wanted to call it that.

This book brought around more memories than all of my trips to the museum put together. So many in fact, that I was beginning to get a headache. I was considering getting up and looking for a glass to get some water in, but then I heard the bedroom door open and the woman came out. She went into the bathroom across the hall and started up the shower, then came back out into the hallway and walked into the kitchen. I was frozen where I sat, because she was clad in nothing but her under garments. My eyes quickly looked down to the book upon the table, but as she turned her back to me to get a glass from the cupboard, I could not help but give her body a once over. I watched as she filled her glass with water and then she began to turn around while bringing the cup to her lips. I then braced myself for when she would discover me sitting there. Three…two…one.

The glass fell from her hand and shattered upon the floor, causing me to flinch. She then shouted and grabbed the nearest form of cover she could, which happened to be a dish towel, and she attempted to cover her exposed body with it. It was failing miserably, but I did the gentlemanly thing to do and turned my eyes elsewhere, but not before noticing that her eyes had moved to my metal arm. Then she noticed the book I was reading and her eyes went from there to my arm repeatedly until they met my gaze. She had made the connection.


End file.
